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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869803">The Itch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seollem/pseuds/seollem'>seollem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Soulmates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:47:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seollem/pseuds/seollem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before her eighth year, Hermione finds an interesting object in Borgin and Burke’s. In 1945, Tom does, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>321</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Glass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first time writing a fic since the monstrosity I posted on ffn in middle school. Somehow I feel like my English was better then. But here goes nothing. This is not beta’d because I have no friends.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>August 15th, 1998</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The itch began before the start of Hermione’s eighth year, as she peered around a shadowy corner of Knockturn Alley. Her eyes followed Draco Malfoy, who was currently slipping into the shop formerly known as Borgin and Burkes, casting a worried glance behind him as the door clicked shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t intended to follow him when she first noticed him walking by the window of Flourish and Blott’s. She was perfectly content to let him wander off and never speak with him again. But he just <em>had</em> </span>
  <span>to give one last, incredibly suspicious look over his shoulder, as if checking to see if someone was following him. What kind of Gryffindor would she be if she hadn’t snapped her book shut and rushed after a dodgy character sneaking around Knockturn Alley? No, she was a woman of action.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rubbed her thumb absentmindedly along her middle finger, eyes fixed on the shop window. Malfoy was talking animatedly to a young shop clerk with sandy blond hair. He could really just be shopping, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was afoot. Something was always afoot when Malfoy was involved. She had grossly underestimated him in her sixth year, but she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She saw Malfoy and the clerk lean over a display table, heads close together. She wished she had one of those Extendable Ears,  but it looks like she would have to do this the old-fashioned way. She had definitely learned what <em>not</em> </span>
  <span>to do from the last time she was here. She was confident that she’d get it right this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waited for Malfoy to come out of the shop and shuffle down the alley from whence he came. Good riddance. Once the coast was clear, she slipped into the shop herself. The soft tinkle of a bell alerted the clerk to her presence. A young man with thick eyebrows and a pointed jaw stepped out from the storage room. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, and as his dark blue eyes crinkled, his smile showing all of his too-straight teeth, she wondered fleetingly what drove him to work in a place like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How can I help you, miss?” He asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m just browsing, thank you,” she said. The clerk’s smile faltered slightly, eyes and Hermione realized her mistake. This wasn’t the type of shop you just browsed in. You came here with a purpose. So she quickly came up with one of those. “Actually, I just moved into my own flat. I’ll be living alone, you see, and a friend of mine told me this was the place to go for… erm, extra security.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clerk’s eyes lit with recognition and his smile widened, which she’d not thought possible. “Oh, yes, you must have heard of our disappearing doormats. Incredible feedback on these, especially among our young, single ladies. Please follow me this way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nodded and trailed after him, scratching at the stinging in her finger. Her attention was immediately drawn to the table they were approaching. There was only one item there, in a glass case. A bouquet of roses in a crystal vase, studded with diamonds.  It looked… perfectly ordinary. Deceptively so, she figured, otherwise Malfoy would not have come to look at it. She suddenly stopped in front of it and exclaimed, “Oh, what a lovely vase! I’ve been looking for one for my new place, actually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clerk turned to her with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, this has just been sold to another customer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that so?” She crossed her arms and tried to look disappointed. “She must have excellent taste.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>He</em> </span>
  <span>purchased it as a gift for his mother, actually,” he shook his head sadly. “She’s quite ill, he says. This vase eternally preserves any flowers you put in it. Must be for her bedside.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s awful news,” Hermione said sincerely. She felt a twinge of pity for Draco Malfoy. As much as she disliked the Malfoys on principle, the wizarding world owed Narcissa Malfoy a huge debt for her role in saving Harry’s life. She suddenly felt very guilty for following him here and learning his private news in this way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it--” He was cut off when the entrance bell rang out, followed by the aggressive clicking of heels. A squat, round older woman stepped around the aisle, dressed lavishly in pastel pink robes, glittering purple jewels at her neck and ears. Hermione shuddered, reminded of Umbridge and her disturbingly similar fashion sense. Further solidifying the comparison, the newcomer pointed a stubby finger at the clerk and called loudly in a high-pitched voice, “Clarence! You have some explaining to do about that invisible ring you sold me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarence grimaced and looked at Hermione apologetically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a moment, please.” He told her softly, before pasting on a bright smile and scuffling over to pacify the fuming woman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed to Hermione that this was an excellent time to disappear from the shop now that she’d gotten the information, and humbling, that she’d needed. She snuck around to the next aisle, planning to make a break for the door when a movement to her right startled her. She stifled her shout of surprise with her hand and staggered back until her back hit the opposite shelf, nearly knocking a crystal ball off its stand. She stared back at… her reflection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was only a mirror. She sighed in relief, shaking her head at her own silliness. She adjusted her hair and smoothed her cloak, then paused to take in her reflection. It was obviously her, but there was something different that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Same curly mane of hair, same deep brown eyes. She stepped closer to inspect her skin. Was it… glowing? Was it enchanted to make the user look better? She waved her hand around in a circle in front of her face. She noticed with curiosity that her shadow did not follow suit. Strange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione placed her palm on the mirror where her rebellious shadow stood, pulling it back immediately when there was a searing pain in her left middle finger. She cried out softly and pulled it to her chest. What on <em>earth</em>? She examined her finger, rubbing her thumb along the spot that had stung, but she couldn’t see any indication that something had happened to it. Perhaps it was an an anti-theft charm, albeit an oddly specific one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes snapped up from her finger to her reflection. Her shadow -- or rather, what she had previously assumed was her own shadow -- moved. The dark outline of her -- its? -- arm in the mirror now could definitely not be mistaken for her own as she stood frozen. The shadow’s head tilted slightly to the right, as if it was just as confused as she was. She turned her head slowly over her shoulder, but nothing was there. So the mirror </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> enchanted, then. She reached toward the reflection again, against her better judgement, and pressed a finger tentatively against the cool glass. She held her breath and watched as the shadow mirrored her movement a moment later. The long, thin finger crept closer and closer to her own hand, captivating her enough that she ignored the tingling in her own finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see you’ve found the Soul Glass,” came an oily voice to her left, making her jump and pull back her hand abruptly. An old man with a curtain of patchy white hair was standing next to her, eyes fixed on the mirror. She had been so transfixed, she hadn’t even heard him approach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… yes, I suppose I have,” she stuttered out. She cleared her throat and turned her eyes back to the silhouette. “What is Soul Glass, exactly? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They say the other half of your soul is on the other side of the mirror,” the man spoke in a low, sinister voice, fingers gently trailing along the metal frame of the looking glass. “Soul Glass allows you to see your soulmate. His form will become more defined the closer you become to him, until his true identity is revealed. Or hers, if you’re so inclined.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Physically or emotionally closer?” She inquired distractedly. Her eyes traced the shape of the other form in the mirror, trying to stare into existence the outline of disheveled hair and lanky stature she was so familiar with. Surely if soulmates existed, hers would be Ron, after all these years of dancing around each other. After finally </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing</span>
  </em>
  <span> each other in the same way. But this form -- man? -- was different. Similarly tall, but he held his body differently. Elegant in a way she couldn’t recall seeing anyone at Hogwarts pull off. Anyone she had ever met, for that matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Both, I suppose,” the man’s eyes flickered to the hand she was clutching close to herself. “Aren’t they one and the same?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her snort of laughter startled the old man, inciting him to look at her with distaste. She turned to him, hand on her hip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but that’s just ridiculous,” she said bluntly. “Soulmates aren’t real, they’re a myth. And besides, I <em>have</em> a boyfriend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who doesn’t resemble this man in the mirror, hm?” The old man smirked, eyes knowing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That would be none of your business, sir,” Hermione retorted a bit more defensively than someone secure in her relationship might. “I’ll be leaving then, thank you for your time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pushed past him without a second glance at the enchanted object. She heard Clarence call out a “Have a good evening!” from behind her as she shoved the door open, the sound of the bell muffled by the crack of her hasty apparition.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It really <em>was</em></span>
  <span> ridiculous, she thought later as she glared at the ceiling of her room, scratching furiously at the bug bite on her finger. Soul mates weren’t real. And even if they were, she and Ron were together. By choice! Surely that was more real than some mystical glass in Knockturn Alley.  She looked down at the reddened skin, scowling and cursing the bug who dared break through her wards. The scowl melted off her face when the dim lamp light reflected off a mark she hadn’t seen before. She squinted at her finger, moving it back and forth to check if it was a trick of the light. But the glimmer of a delicate line of gold remained across her middle finger like a tattoo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>September 1st, 1998</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s soft voice broke through her reverie. She turned away from the scenery outside the Hogwarts Express to look at her compartment-mates, who were looking at her cautiously. Luna gazed at her knowingly from across the compartment in such a way that made Hermione stick her left hand into the pocket of her coat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Are you alright? You’ve been in a daze for… well, days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m fine.” She smiled reassuringly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. They were right, of course. She had been unsettled since the incident in Knockturn Alley, an incident she hadn’t been able to bring herself to mention to her best friends. It was a relief that Ron had decided not to return to Hogwarts for his final year, choosing instead to help George manage their newly acquired Hogsmeade branch of the joke shop. She couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that spread across her chest as he excitedly told her that she could come visit him every weekend in the apartment above the shop. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, was it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just thinking about how strange it will be to go back.” She finished.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ginny reached out and patted her leg comfortingly. “We’re all feeling the same. But we’ll get through it together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione felt a pang of guilt for using the war as an excuse to cover up her fixation on the marking on her finger. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be strange to go back, that wasn’t a lie. She was fully expecting the images of her friends lying torn and bleeding to haunt the hallways of what was once a place of wonder. The horrors of that night would follow her to every class, hover over her at every meal in the Great Hall, and hide in the shadows of Hogsmeade watching as she drinks her butterbeer. But she would cope in the best way she knew how -- by throwing herself into her studies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>N.E.W.T.s were weighing on the minds of every seventh and eighth year student returning to Hogwarts this year but for Hermione they were a relief. She’d been aching for nightmares about her quill disintegrating in the middle of her Arithmancy exam to replace the image of Harry disintegrating into ash in Hagrid’s arms, Voldemort’s triumphant laugh echoing endlessly in her ears as a green light soared toward her and wrapped around her like a rope, pulling her closer, closer to his slitted red eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, banished the memories of her restless sleep, and placed her hand gently over Ginny’s. She looked around the compartment again and hoped that her false smile reached her eyes. Luckily, a grinning Neville chose that moment to slide the door open with his elbow, arms loaded with sweets from the trolley. Ginny jumped up to pluck a chocolate frog from the pile with a shout of joy, and the conversation naturally drifted to the Hogwarts feast and the impending tests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hermione was thankful for the focus to be off her, and she laughed along with everyone as they chatted, thumb returning to trace the mark on her finger. One she would know more about after the feast, if the long list of books on Soul Glass burning a hole in her pocket was any indication.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>August 15th, 1945</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The soft tinkle of a bell drifted from the door at the front of a dimly lit shop at 13B in Knockturn Alley. A tall, handsome young man hovered at the front door. His dark hair was swept carefully to the side, curls settled perfectly above his brow. He stood still in the doorway, spine straight and shoulders back, eyes scanning the layout of the shop with interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A voice from a room behind the counter called out, “Be with you in a moment!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take your time,” replied the young man in a cool,  pleasant tone. He stepped inside the shop completely, letting the door swing shut behind him. His dress shoes clicked softly as he sauntered down the aisles. His dark eyes flickered from item to item, cluttered around a wooden table to his left. His gaze lingered on a sinister looking dagger before following the movement of a silver top that wouldn’t seem to stop spinning. The corner of his mouth quirked you slightly in amusement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands were clasped behind his back as he moved on from the display and paced the aisle, his fingers absentmindedly running over the crest of the bulky ring adorning his finger. He paused as he came to the end of the aisle, a tall mirror catching his attention. He turned to meet his own eyes in the mirror before him, glancing over his clothes as if to ensure nothing was out of place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head slightly, and stepped closer to the mirror, eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder. He watched for a few moments before lifting his left hand and reaching out toward the glass hesitantly. He stretched out a long finger and pressed it to the mirror before pulling it back suddenly, as if burned. He fidgeted with the ring on it, sliding it forward toward his first knuckle. His eyes widened as he turned his hand back and forth, focused on the skin under his ring. He only looked up when a round, middle-aged man rounded the corner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Riddle! You came sooner than I expected. You seem like a man who appreciates the value of time!” Mr. Borgin exclaimed, holding out his hand to shake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom pushed his ring back into place and put on a charming smile before taking the man’s hand. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Burke. I had hoped a timely arrival would give me extra points in the interview.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr. Burke laughed and clapped him on the back. He turned his attention to the mirror beside them. “Very good, very good. I see you’ve already had a look at the Soul Glass! One of our newly acquired products from the Rosiers. They have quite a collection amassed in their cellar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tom looked intrigued. “Soul Glass? I’ve never heard of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, it’s a very rare material, indeed! If you look carefully, you can see the other half of your soul on the other side. Perhaps that of a lucky lady?” Mr. Burke winked conspiratorially. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How fascinating.” A slow,  predatory smile overtook the handsome features of Tom’s face, something flashing in his eyes as they locked on the shadow beside his reflection. “A piece of my soul, you say?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 18, 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The Hogwarts library was generally peaceful in the beginning of the first term, but it was especially quiet in the early hours before breakfast, when Hermione could be seen slipping through its doors the moment they unlocked. She was sure she was on the brink of discovering something, after a night of prophetic dreams that woke her before dawn.</p><p> </p><p>She had dreamt of a golden light around her table, the one in the back corner nearest to the Restricted Section, which she had claimed in her second year. That table had been magical in itself, a reliable place where she had discovered the truth of the Basilisk and managed her class load in her Third Year. Hers and hers alone.The confundus charm she had placed on her chair to drive away anyone who might attempt to sit there made it literally magical, but that wasn’t the point.  </p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t a believer in Divination, but she was sure the dream meant that today she would finally discover why the golden line on her finger had expanded, now too thick to conceal from others without a charm. And it was awfully itchy after each growth spurt of the strange, shimmering cord of magic. She wasn’t entirely certain that the marking was related to the soul glass, but if she could find a connection between them, perhaps it would justify her obsession with the shadow in the mirror. All she knew was that one minute she’d been looking at the tall, slim silhouette of her alleged soulmate, and the next she’d had a ring on her finger. If it wasn’t connected, she would have to accept that she just had terrible luck. </p><p> </p><p>Hermione plopped down onto her chair and opened one of the books she’d pulled from the shelves, <span class="u">Found and Unfounded Artifacts of the 17th Century</span>. The table of contents led her to a chapter on rare materials and she scanned the table of contents for mentions of soul glass. Nothing. </p><p> </p><p>She tossed the book aside and dragged over another, a cloud of pink dust rising from it as she flipped open the maroon cover. She coughed and waved away the dust with her hand, a sickly sweet scent accosting her nostrils. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to this book, <span class="u">Charming Your Way to True Love</span>, but she knew that if she couldn’t find anything about the glass in any legitimate reference books, there would be some business-savvy author drawing in romantic young witches with tales of soulmates and enchanted mirrors.</p><p> </p><p>Her finger hovered over the first page, avoiding getting any of the floral-scented residue on her skin, when she spotted it. <em>Finding Your Soulmat</em>e. How utterly predictable.</p><p> </p><p>At the flick of her wand, the pages flipped to the correct section, and she leaned over the glittering tome earnestly, holding her breath. Partially to avoid breathing in the repulsive smell, but mostly in anticipation.</p><p>
  <em> * </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Finding Your Soulmate </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Somewhere in this vast world exists another being created perfectly for you! Over the centuries, countless spells and potions have been developed to light the path that leads to your ideal match. These charms and brews, hand-picked by experts, will help connect you to the love of your life, waiting for you at its end! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> * </em>
</p><p>Hermione mentally rolled her eyes at this as she skimmed the page, glossing over aggressive tracking spells and potion recipes that make your eyes glow blue when looking at your soulmate. She couldn’t see how that would be helpful without carrying a mirror with you at all times, but she didn’t allow herself to pursue that line of thought.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ...your better half… snag your special someone… gaze into the mirror… heart’s desire... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes snapped back, fixating on one word. <em>Mirror</em>. This is it, she thought. Please, <em>please</em> let this be it.</p><p> </p><p>A buzz of anticipation surged through her and she leaned closer to the book, as if seeing it up close was going to give her the answers she needed. She traced the title of the section with the tip of her wand: <em>The Looking Glass of Destiny</em>. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <em> The Looking Glass of Destiny is the most accurate predictor of one’s soulmate to date. Only ten are known to exist. Created with soul glass, a rare material developed in 1582 by world-renowned alchemist Paracelsus, this artifact reflects the image of one’s fated lover. The appearance of the user’s soulmate begins as an outline, and becomes clearer in direct correlation with the physical proximity of the couple. Once you lay eyes upon your match, their likeness becomes visible to you in the glass. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> One well-known historical account from 1877 revealed that British tradesman Paul Nidweather discovered her soulmate after frequent correspondence with his business partner in India, flying carpet weaver Pranay Gupta. After meeting him and  his family face-to-face for the first time, he was surprised and delighted to return home to find the loving eyes of Mr. Gupta’s daughter, Mayra, gazing back. The Looking Glass of Destiny has facilitated matches of true love for centuries for those lucky enough to come across one. </em>
</p><p>*</p><p>Hermione frowned as she skimmed over the remaining passages, endless stories of destined lovers but not a word about a golden tattoo that prickled endlessly, driving the victim to madness. She closed the book rather aggressively, another puff of glittering substance assaulting her eyes and nose. She broke into another coughing fit and banished the book back to its shelf with a frustrated flick of her wand, then slowly lowered her forehead to the desk, sniffling. Eyes closed, she planned her next move. </p><p> </p><p><em>It’s fine</em>, she thought to herself. <em>This is a good start. I’ll follow the lead on Paracelsus, then go from there. If anyone can figure this out, it’s me.</em></p><p> </p><p>She stood from her chair and made her way out toward the Great Hall, stomach twinging uncomfortably.</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t tell if it was from hunger, or the unwelcome knowledge that her boyfriend was not, in fact, her soulmate. </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>October 17, 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“—even listening to me, Hermione?” Ron’s irritated voice sliced through her thoughts like a serrated knife, rough and unwelcome. Her eyes snapped up to his, and she had to fight to keep the annoyance out of her expression. Didn’t he know she was facing a personal, unresolved crisis right now? Wasn’t he aware that she had more important things to deal with than the success of his new product? </p><p> </p><p>No, he didn’t. She immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. Of <em>course</em> he didn’t. How <em>could</em> he, when she’d been avoiding him? Using studying for N.E.W.T.s as her excuse to stay in the castle while her peers visited Hogsmeade? Replying half-heartedly to his letters, hitting only the main points and carefully avoiding telling him what she’s <em>really</em> been up to?</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, Ron, I was just imagining all the first years I will have to assign detention to over those Test Tubes that have been flying off your shelves,” she said bitterly, taking another sip of her butterbeer. “You <em>really</em> shouldn’t be creating more ways for children to cheat on their exams.”</p><p> </p><p>He gave her a lopsided smile, seemingly pacified by her lie. He threw his arm around her shoulders and leaned back in his chair. “You’re no fun at all, as usual! Think of it as a good learning experience for them. Trial and error always worked for us.” </p><p> </p><p>She scowled and took another long swig of her drink, choosing not to dignify his comment with a response. It was lucky that he was too self-involved to notice, really. Harry, on the other hand, was currently sitting across from her, bright green eyes laden with… something. Curiosity? Accusation? She wasn’t certain, but she <em>was</em> certain he would take her aside later and interrogate her about her distractedness later. She avoided his gaze carefully. She kept her eyes on the table as Ginny and Ron argued over family discounts, reminding her painfully of Fred and George.</p><p> </p><p>Her mind wandered again, back to the book waiting for her in her dorm, The Works of the Great Paracelsus. She’d found an interesting paragraph describing the instability of the fairy dust component bonding with the golden sands of the ancient pyramids, sometimes leaving “soul marks” upon physical contact with the soul glass. She had been forced away from the passage by Ginny, who reminded Hermione that she’d promised to come this week because Harry was on break from his Auror training program. She’d reluctantly followed her to the Three Broomsticks, but she was itching to get back to her research to find out what a soul mark actually was.</p><p> </p><p>Harry and Ginny stood suddenly, bringing her back to the present. She scrambled to her feet, hugging Harry as he came around the table to leave. She stiffened as he held her tighter and whispered close to her ear, soft enough for only her to hear. “We’ll talk later.” </p><p> </p><p>He gave her a pointed look as he drew back, before taking Ginny’s hand and leading her out of the pub.</p><p> </p><p>Ron looked at her expectantly, a shy smile on his face. “You haven’t been by the shop in a while. Shall I show you around the place? You can see the new layout.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione smiled weakly and shook her head. She placed her hand on his arm gently and said, “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m just not feeling up to it today. I’ll come by next time.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron looked hurt, and he took a step back as if she’d physically pushed him. “You’ve been saying that for months, ‘Mione. What’s going on? Have I done something?”</p><p> </p><p>Her heart clenched guiltily. “Of course not. No, I’m just…. not feeling like myself these days. I have a lot on my mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“We all do, but you don’t see any of us pushing you away.” Ron’s eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “If it’s going to be like this, you don’t have to bother coming out anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>“Be like what, Ron? Not coming to your flat every weekend?” She asked, knowing it was unnecessarily cruel. She knew it hadn’t been what he meant, but she couldn’t help the frustration bubbling within her and spilling it through her lips.  “You might have a comfortable job now, but I need to do well on my N.E.W.T.s if I want to accomplish everything I came back here to do. I can’t be distracted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m a distraction, then?” Ron’s face turned red and he angrily stuffed his arms into his coat. “In that case, I won’t stand in the way of you and your precious N.E.W.T.s anymore!”</p><p> </p><p>He turned on his heel and pushed the door open forcefully, leaving her staring after him sadly, a pub full of curious eyes glued to her back.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>October 31, 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Dear Ms. Granger,</p><p> </p><p>Thank you for your inquiry. I’m pleased to inform you that the Soul Glass Mirror is still available, and for a special price of 250 Galleons! We would be happy to put it on hold for you until you can come to retrieve it. Please let us know a convenient date for your visit, and we will ensure that it is ready for you. </p><p> </p><p>Sincerely,</p><p> </p><p>Clarence Gladbrock</p><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> <strong>November 21, 1998</strong></p><p> </p><p>“A <em>what</em>?” Ginny leaned over the table toward her, incredulous. Hermione shushed her and met her in the middle of the table, left hand splayed on the table to show her friends the secret she’d been keeping for ages.</p><p> </p><p>“A soul mark,” she whispered. “Please, you can’t tell <em>anyone</em>. Especially Ron, he would be so hurt. I can’t even bear to face him until I figure this out.”</p><p> </p><p>“What is it exactly?” Harry asked, his curious gaze fixed on her finger.</p><p> </p><p>“I… I don’t know,” Hermione replied dejectedly. “There just isn’t enough information available on the topic in the Hogwarts library. I’ve been looking for months, Harry. I was lucky to even find what I have already.”</p><p> </p><p>“Harry, can’t you check at the Ministry?” Ginny inquired. “I’m sure someone there would have access to records on that kind of thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll ask as soon as I can,” he promised. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair, shaking his head. “How did this even happen?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, if you remember, I mentioned that I visited Knockturn Alley during the summer,” Hermione started. “That day I learned about Malfoy’s mother. I came across something there, a mirror. I touched it, and that same night I noticed the mark.”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind of mirror?” Harry asked suspiciously. Hermione sighed heavily.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s called The Looking Glass of Destiny,” she said softly. “You can see… It’s said that it shows--”</p><p> </p><p>“Your soulmate,” Ginny whispered excitedly, clapping her hands together. “I can’t believe they actually exist!”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione clasped Ginny’s hands in her own, eyes eager. “You’ve heard of it?”</p><p> </p><p>Ginny nodded. “Of course, every little witch knows the story of Eda and the Looking Glass! We all grow up pretending our soulmate is watching us through our mirrors at home.”</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds a bit creepy, actually,” Hermione laughed, elated to have a new lead. “But that story would be a good place to begin looking!”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you see your soulmate, then?” Ginny whispered urgently, eyes widening in curiosity. “What does he look like? Is he fit?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think what Ginny would like to ask is,” Harry interrupted sharply, “did you see Ron? In the mirror, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione couldn’t conceal the guilty expression that crossed her face, prompting Harry to lean back in his chair. Ginny frowned, but her knowing look told Hermione that it was obvious she’d already known that her brother wasn’t 5e image she’d seen. Hermione sighed, unable to avoid the truth she’d been holding inside for months.</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t tell who my soulmate was,” she confessed. “But if it were Ron, I’d have been able to see his face clearly when I looked at it. Whoever I saw was someone I haven’t met yet.”</p><p> </p><p>Ginny deflated visibly, clearly disappointed by the lack of details about her soulmate.</p><p> </p><p>“Look,” Hermione began tentatively, eyes beginning to blur with tears. “You both know that I… I care about Ron very much. Whoever is in that mirror, he wasn’t with me all those years. He hasn’t been by my side through everything we went through. But this mark… Until I know more about it, I need some space from Ron. What if I can never remove it, and he discovers what it is and can never forgive me? What if it’s binding, and I’m just wasting his time? I can’t just ignore magic that I don’t understand. I <em>have</em> to understand.”</p><p> </p><p>She finally released the sob that she’d been holding back, and buried her face in her hands. Tears dripped from her cheeks onto the table, tears of guilt, frustration, anger, and helplessness. She realized how long it had been since she’d allowed herself to cry. Allowed herself to feel anything besides a desire to solve a mystery. She sobbed even harder as she felt Harry and Ginny move to either side of her and envelope her in their comforting embrace.</p><p>—</p><p>
  <strong>December 28, 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Hermione handed over the pouch of coins grudgingly, knowing she was making a huge mistake but being unable to stop herself. Her parents were going to be alarmed when they saw what she was bringing home after borrowing a hefty sum of money from them. But she’d had to make sure no one could buy it before she figured out how to reverse the enchantment etched into the skin of her finger. This puzzle was the itch she hadn’t been able to scratch, and she was ready to get some relief.</p><p> </p><p>Clarence beamed at her as he collected the gold, no doubt thinking about his commission fee. He pulled out his wand and a springy blue foam-like material unrolled out of its tip and wrapped itself around her purchase. “It’s yours for the taking, Ms. Granger! Thank you for your business!”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione thanked him politely, promising herself that she’d never set foot in this store again. She gripped the mirror and apparated back to her room. </p><p> </p><p>She carefully levitated the mirror into the corner of her bedroom and cast one last glare toward it before heading downstairs for dinner. She’d deal with this later.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>When she returned, she was full and clean and ready to sleep off the headache that was building behind her eyes. She brushed her long, damp hair in the mirror on her vanity, water droplets staining the red and gold satin nightdress Ginny had given her for Christmas. With a wave of her wand, the water evaporated, leaving her hair and clothes warm and dry. She caught sight of the Looking Glass of Destiny sitting ominously in the corner and turned around in her seat to look at it.</p><p> </p><p>With a slice of her wand, the packaging fluttered to the ground in strips before she banished them. This left her facing it -- the same shadow that had been lurking in the edges of her mind for the last four months. The silhouette of the man who had unknowingly wedged himself between her and Ron, making her question the relationship she had patiently suffered through years of his dismissal to get. She pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself, eyeing the dark figure warily as she approached.</p><p> </p><p>It might have been her imagination, but the outline seemed sharper, more defined than the last time she had laid eyes upon it. She was certain that now she could make out his shoulders, not exceedingly broad but proportionate to the rest of his body, blending into the long, lean arms that were resting on either side of her own reflection, as if he were leaning against the mirror, caging her in. It would have been a frightening sight if she hadn’t known the figure on the other side meant her no harm.</p><p> </p><p>She took another step closer to the mirror and held up her hand. Not to touch it -- she wouldn’t make that mistake again -- but to check if the proximity to the mirror had any effect on her golden tattoo. She felt it tingle again, and the hand of her soulmate mimicked her action. </p><p> </p><p>She wondered idly if he could see her, the way she could see him. There hadn’t been a mention of a two-way mirror, or a connection between any of the ones created. Was he standing in front of his own, thinking about her as well? Was it just the magic of the glass creating its own movement, like the Mirror of Erised?</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widened as at that moment, the glass rippled, a wave of gold coursing through the reflection. She’d barely had a moment to register the movement before a pale hand materialized out of the glass and fastened around her wrist, and she’d <em>certainly</em> not had time to scream before she was tugged forcefully through the looking glass, out of her room, toward her destiny.</p><p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I like italics too much I know</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Satin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>December 28, 1945</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was pleasing to the eye, Tom could admit. Her hair was a bit unruly, perhaps, but in her defense, she had clearly been uprooted from a private moment. It was obvious from her rather revealing nightclothes that she’d been about to retire for the evening, and had he been able to feel remorse he might have felt sorry for bringing her unwillingly into his home while experimenting with the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, he had no such limitations, and merely looked at her curiously as she pulled her wrist back from his loosened grip and crossed her arms over her chest protectively, brown eyes wide, confusion and fear etched into them. Just as he liked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stared at each other for a few moments, neither sure who should speak first. She clutched her dressing gown tighter around her and looked him up and down, face flushed and expression incredulous. Whether she was impressed by his appearance, or it was simply the fact that she was suddenly on the other side of her mirror, he could not tell. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He supposed he should be a graceful host, however ungracefully the situation had unfolded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I apologize for the intrusion,” he broke the silence, voice low and silky. “That didn’t work out quite as I expected.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She answered after a beat, and her voice trembled despite her obvious effort to seem composed, straightening her spine and tilting her chin up toward him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you do that?” She blurted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He supposed it was a valid question. Valid, but one he was unable to answer, considering he hadn’t actually intended to drag an unsuspecting woman through a mirror, into the flat of a strange man. He had been surprised himself to witness his hand disappear through the mirror, and even more surprised to feel the warmth of another’s skin on the other side. He’d grasped it out of pure curiosity, and was rather shocked when she’d followed her appendage through to his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Magic,” he quipped, his friendly smile not quite reaching his eyes. She blinked at him, as if deciding whether or not he was joking, and allowed a small smile to grace her features.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What spell did you use?” She pressed eagerly. “The limited information I could get my hands on in the Hogwarts library said it was impossible to see you in the glass without meeting you first, much less use it to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d expected her to be a witch - for how could his soulmate be a muggle? - but still, the confirmation was reassuring. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I tried all the revealing charms at first,” he replied, smiling, pleased to discuss his findings. “When that didn’t work, I brewed a <em>verum identitatem</em> potion and applied it to the mirror. Soul glass is known for its weakness to potions, impervious as it may be to spells.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it? That explains why I couldn’t run any diagnostics on it, much less a <em>revelio</em>,” the woman explained with bright eyes, seemingly unable to contain her glee at this new revelation. “Can you recommend a book?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could tell you everything I know, if you’d like,” he replied over his shoulder as he turned to pull a heavy black cloak off the stand beside the mirror. “However, I believe we’ve skipped a crucial step this evening.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Which step would that be?” She asked, eyes following his movements warily. He smirked at her vigilance and held his arm out, offering her the cloak he’d just taken down. She hesitated for a moment before accepting it, smiling slightly in thanks but not meeting his eyes as she draped it over her shoulders. She visibly relaxed beneath the fabric, and looked up at him expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Introductions, of course.” He smiled at her, her cheeks taking on a lovely pink tint as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. Easily embarrassed, he noted. He could work with that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, how rude of me,” she began, shaking her head. “My name is Hermione.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Tom,” he replied, taking her cue and withholding his surname, which suited him just fine. Hermione. How unique. She would be easy to locate, if necessary, even without her full name. He put on his best apologetic face and said humbly, “I would think I’m the rude one, pulling a defenseless woman into my home without her permission.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That <em>was</em> quite rude,” she acknowledged, amusement dancing in her eyes as she met his again. “You could have owled first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he promised, chuckling. She did not seem like a delicate flower, fortunately. He waved a hand toward her red and gold clothing, now shrouded by his own black outerwear. “You must be a Gryffindor, considering your attire.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And <em>you</em> must be a Slytherin, considering your tone,” she replied evasively. She looked around his age, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing her at Hogwarts. Perhaps she had graduated before him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guilty, I’m afraid,” he held his hands up in surrender. “I recently graduated. Strange, though, I’ve never seen you around the school.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You must not be a frequent patron of the library, then,” she countered, her eyes looking everywhere but his. “It would be difficult to recognize a face that’s always hidden behind a book.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On the contrary, I spent much time in the library myself,” he replied, taking a step toward her. "I'm surprised we've never encountered each other there."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, what a shame," she returned sincerely, stepping back, before her teeth returned to worrying her lip. <em>A tell</em>. She was nervous, but he couldn't see why talking about her time at Hogwarts made her so. She was avoiding something, some part of her schooling that she didn't want to discuss with him. But no matter, he would find out eventually. He was a patient man.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could pry further, she spun around and faced the mirror, looking into the image of her own room behind her reflection. Her furniture was the palest wood he had ever seen, all sharp edges and clean lines. A small black item on her dressing table glowed white with four numbers: 1047. He wondered what they signified.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned in toward the mirror and tentatively prodded it with her finger, opening her reddened lips to release a soft gasp when it went right through it, like the glass was made of liquid. His own eyes widened, following the resulting ripple that spread across the surface like disturbed water. He had hoped the potion would reveal her in the mirror, but he couldn’t have imagined that it would make her so... <em>accessible</em>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fascinating,” she muttered to herself, pulling her finger back out of the mirror. “It’s almost like some sort of portal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve certainly never seen anything like it before,” he agreed, coming up behind her. He reached out to mimic her action, his arm brushing her shoulder lightly as he leaned over her toward the mirror. The glass was solid against his fingertip, however, both intriguing and disappointing him. “It doesn’t seem to respond to me anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It must have its reasons.” Hermione’s tone was playful, but her posture remained tense and rigid with his close proximity. It was obvious that she was itching to escape from this situation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he couldn't allow that just yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> He looked down at the reflection of her hand worrying the edges of his cloak and a glint of gold caught his eye. He froze. </span>
  <span><em>There it was</em>. The twin of the enigma adorning his own skin, one he’d still been unable to reverse. A soul mark. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It might have been a coincidence that it appeared directly under his ring, but considering what the ring <em>was</em>, he knew it was something more. The fact that this girl, his soulmate, had one in the same place was telling.  There was some connection between the mark and this mirror, he knew. And now that he’d confirmed that his soul was tethered to her in some way, he would have to rethink his plan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled off his ring and placed it in his pocket before holding up the back of his left hand, showing her his matching band in the mirror. This should gain her trust, if not her interest. “I see you have one as well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She spun around suddenly, cloak slipping from her trembling hands to pool at her feet. Her chocolate-colored eyes were wide, lips parted to form an “o” of surprise. She stared at his finger, reaching out slowly to hold her own up beside it, comparing the glittering markings side-by-side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They… match.” She said, rather stupidly. Didn’t she have any idea what they were? Soul marks were rare, surely, but the research on them was consistent. The purpose of them <em>was</em> to match, to connect them. Luckily, she had the good sense to look abashed. “I mean, of course they do. I just meant, what a peculiar spot and shape to take. The spread usually begins at the point of contact with the soul glass, but ours is contained to one location, like… like a ring.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He did not offer the reason for this, though it was obvious to him. The soul glass must have reacted to the fragment of his own soul in the ring. He couldn’t imagine that much research had been done on the exposure of a horcrux to soul glass to confirm this, but it was too specific to be a coincidence. He certainly had no intention of sharing his theory with her, however.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I agree that it’s… unique,” he said carefully. “Also rather uncomfortable, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The itch, you mean?” She asked, eyes still scrutinizing his finger. “Yes, no amount of soothing salve has been able to rid me of that. Nor the pins and needles.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very distracting,” he acknowledged. Now that she was here, perhaps a closer look at her mark would give him some more clarity. He turned his hand and held it out to her, palm up, expression artfully softened. Girls were susceptible to innocent smiles and vulnerability. He needed her to trust him if he was to utilize her. “May I?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitated for several moments, eyebrows drawn together. He didn’t know what was holding her back, he was only asking for her hand, to see her soul mark up close. She was clearly an overthinker of the worst kind, and he realized it would require every drop of patience to see this through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When she finally relented, she did so very reluctantly. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled on the corner of his lips, slow, predatory. <em>One step closer</em>. His long, pale fingers wrapped around her hand delicately, and his thumb brushed over the smooth mark on her finger lightly. Until, however, an electric shock jolted through him, sending his heartbeat racing. But it was more than just his heartbeat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like his very blood cells were burning with magic, a tingling sensation barreling through his veins from the shimmering band on his finger down to the tips of his toes.  A magical energy like he had never experienced before. He felt… exhilarated. <em>Powerful</em>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He staggered backward, breathing heavily, head spinning. He heard a thump, and looked toward Hermione to see her blurry form collapsed on the ground. He could hear her panting as well, clearly experiencing the same overwhelming outburst of magic. Was she… absorbing his magic? Was hers amplifying his own, strengthening his already exceptional ability? Were there souls truly bonded in some way, now made irreversible? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The buzz of adrenaline slowed, even as his mind raced with unanswered questions. None of which he knew the answer to. But <em>oh, he would find out</em>, he thought lucidly as his mind cleared, the pleasant sensation evaporating from within him. His sharp gaze met her astounded one as she looked up at him from the floor, where she sat shivering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He merely watched her as she struggled to her feet. She swayed unsteadily and her hand came up to her head, tugging at the roots of her wild curls. Her silky dressing gown had slipped to expose a tan shoulder sprinkled with freckles. Her collarbone protruded sharply, making her suddenly seem very frail. She seemed to have forgotten that she was barely dressed, as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tom, on the other hand, was suddenly <em>very</em> aware of it, uncomfortably so, his nerves still humming in the aftermath of what had just occurred. He bent down slowly to retrieve his cloak, lying forgotten on the floor, without breaking eye contact with her. She stood very still as he approached her and wrapped the cloak around her slight frame.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was careful not to make contact with her skin, tempted as he was to explore that sheer burst of power further. She looked shaken, and he had no desire to scare her away before he had managed to discover more about their connection.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” She whispered tremulously, taking a step back toward the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, voice soothing. <em>But I will soon</em>. “I believe this will take a great deal more research than I had thought. </span>Perhaps we should call it a night, and reconvene when we've had some rest.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good thinking,” she agreed, voice stronger. She broke their eye contact, turning away, reached out her hand again toward the mirror, checking to make sure it was still malleable to her touch. Sure enough, her finger disappeared through it again. She looked back at him again and smiled weakly. “I suppose you could just... knock on the mirror when you'd like to speak to me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That seems most efficient," he gestured toward the mirror as if to indicate that she was free to go. And she <em>was</em>, for now. "Good night, Hermione."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Good night, Tom.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she was gone, sucked back into her room. He watched her pause on the other side of the mirror, looking around in awe. She looked toward the mirror again and jumped when she saw him standing there, in his own room. He couldn’t help the quirk of his lips at the sight of her shock. She waved quickly with an awkward smile and shuffled out of his line of sight, face once again overtaken by a blush. Suddenly the background of the mirror shifted to black, and he found himself staring back at his own room reflected behind him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was startled to see that, just beside him, was Hermione. She was wearing the same red and gold satin nightdress, billowing in a non-existent breeze. Mirror-Hermione smiled prettily up at him, tucking her golden brown curls behind her ear shyly. The satin clung to her form, revealing much more than he had seen when she was standing before him. He stared blankly for a moment before reaching for his wand, then swirling it briskly in the air to conjure a cloak which draped itself over the glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He had work to do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>December 28th, 1998</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione sank down onto her bed, clutching her left hand to her chest, heartbeat struggling to return to normal. She felt like she was being crushed under the weight of the ramifications of the encounter with her soulmate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span><em>Tom</em>. He didn’t seem to know who she was. This was unusual, considering she was quite… <em>well-known</em> among Hogwarts students, even among Slytherins. While unexpected, she was relieved to know that he no longer attended, and therefore was less likely to have connections to Ron. They could sort this whole thing out and he'd never have to know, and none of her classmates would have a clue either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn't recall a Tom, though the last year was a bit of a blur for her. She certainly would have remembered seeing him, considering his… well, he<em> was</em> exceptionally good-looking, wasn’t he? Every feature of his face was well-proportioned, from the dark arch of his eyebrows framing intelligent eyes, so deep brown they were almost black. The straight line of his nose sloping down to his full lips and an excellent set of teeth. His pale, flawless skin, void of any blemishes or freckles, much unlike the ones spattered across her own skin. His appearance was unsettling, if she was being honest. There was something there she couldn't put her finger on, underlying his charming smile. It was like he was too perfect to be genuine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He must be brilliant as well, or else how could he have turned the mirror into a doorway between their homes? Would they be able to simply chat with each other through the glass? Could she slip into the portal whenever she pleased and just... have tea with him? Go for a stroll? Should she even be considering it, or should she be searching for a way to break the spell so she could return to her normal life?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Which led to her main concern, and the most pressing one: their soul marks. She didn’t know what had just happened there when he had touched the golden sliver of soul branded into her finger, but she felt strangely certain that something had changed. Like their connection had become stronger. More permanent. She herself had felt a magical power she had never experienced before, and it was euphoric and frightening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She almost hadn’t wanted it to end, a thought which terrified her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, he seemed just as eager as her to discover the secrets of the soul glass, and would be a formidable partner for researching it. She knew that even if she alone couldn’t solve it, their combined effort could. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stood again and approached her mirror cautiously. She drew in a shuddering breath before pulling aside the cloak and peeking into the reflection. When she didn’t see the image of his bare, practical room, she tugged harder. The cloak slid off the mirror and she gathered it into her arms, Tom’s musky, masculine scent permeating her senses, making her dizzy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She was startled to see him standing there behind her, in the same place his shadow had been before. It was not the Tom she had just met, rather it was just an image of him, projected by the connection of his soul to the glass. She felt shy suddenly as her eyes trailed up his figure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at his sock-clad feet and worked her way up slowly, eyeing the same black slacks and fitted white dress shirt he’d been wearing, buttons open casually at the cuffs. She noted his arms, crossed over his black vest, her eyes traced up his long, slim neck and sharp jawline. When she reached his face, however, she swallowed thickly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For Tom was looking right at her, his dark eyes no longer warm, but cold and emotionless, the corners of his mouth tilted up mirthlessly. He looked devastatingly handsome. And <em>dangerous</em>. She shuddered and quickly replaced the cloak, deciding that she’d had enough of revelations for one night. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Later, even under her warm comforter in bed, she was unable to shake the chill that remained from his icy gaze.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>finally I got it to be readable on my 15th try</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Parchment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>December 29th, 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Hermione found herself standing in front of Flourish &amp; Blotts at 8:56am, before the doors had even opened. She fidgeted with a loose bead on the bag in her pocket, anxious to get inside and scour the shelves for something that could help her to understand what had happened the night before.</p><p> </p><p>Tom seemed to know quite a bit more than she did about the soul glass, and had even offered to tell her all about it, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Truth be told, there was something very… unsettling about him. He was handsome, certainly, and even she couldn’t deny being drawn in by his smile and soothed by his silky voice. But there was something about his bottomless eyes that sent chills through her, and not the good kind. If she had learned anything in the last eight years, it was to follow her instincts.</p><p> </p><p>When the shopkeeper greeted her warmly by name and welcomed her in at nine on the dot, she wasted no time asking him where she could find information about soul glass.</p><p> </p><p>“It was created by Paracelcus, the alchemist,” she explained. “Perhaps there are some books on him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm…” The old man stroked his long, wiry beard and scanned the shelves. “We do have some books on Paracelsus but this is the first I’ve heard of soul glass.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright,” Hermione assured him. “I’ll take anything you have on him. And any books on soul mates as well. For a school project, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>He brightened at that, and pointed his wand at a row of shelves. They slid aside to reveal several more bookshelves, out of which four large, ancient-looking tomes soared out toward them and came to a stop in the air before Hermione. He turned and beamed at her. “That’ll be 26 Galleons, 4 sickles, and 19 knuts.”</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Hermione made several more stops at the various bookstores in Diagon Alley before returning to her room and collapsing on her bed. Obscurus Books had had several journals on Paracelsus’s experiments, and she’d picked up an old copy of “Eda and the Looking Glass” at a used bookstore, having gone through most of her Christmas money in one day. She stared at the black cloak covering her mirror, watching with fascination as it rippled in a breeze that wasn’t coming from her own, firmly shut, window. She wondered if she’d ever stop being amazed by magic.</p><p> </p><p>She heaved a sigh as she sat up and reached into her bag to pull out her purchases and lay them across her bed. She could start with the journals, try to cross-reference the dates with the projects he was working on around the same time, then see if they contain any of the same elements. Surely his development of the mirror was a--</p><p> </p><p>“Hermione.” She froze as the whisper drifted menacingly from the mirror and penetrated the sanctuary of her room. He sounded close, as if he was breathing her name into her ear. How had he managed to get in? She turned slowly toward the mirror, expecting to see his tall, slender frame standing in the middle of her room, emotionless black eyes fixed on her with his lovely mouth twisted into a sneer.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione was even more startled to see that nothing was there. The mirror remained draped in his cloak, her room blissfully empty. She shook the eerie image of Tom out of her head, wondering how she’d pictured an expression she’d never even seen him make. Her year on the run had clearly made her more paranoid than she’d originally thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Hermione.” The cloak fluttered as the whisper continued. Hermione walked toward the mirror, against her better judgment. She grasped the edge of the cloak and with a deep breath, pulled it aside to reveal the mirror. The breath she’d taken left her immediately as her eyes fell on Tom, who was standing in his own room. This was not the reflection she saw the night before, but the real Tom. He looked effortlessly put together, dressed in fitted grey slacks and a matching grey sweater, partially concealing his pressed white dress shirt, a Slytherin-green tie knotted neatly at the collar and disappearing below the V-neck of his sweater. </p><p> </p><p>She wondered vaguely where the image of him sneering had come from as he looked upon her just then, his smile friendly and his brown eyes lighter, welcoming. Had she just imagined it? Was her conscience doing its best to drive her away from him out of respect for Ron?</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Tom,” she greeted him, returning his smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d just been about to give up,” he replied with a chuckle. “The efficiency of owls pales in comparison to a mirror portal.”</p><p> </p><p>“Owls are a bit slower, but infinitely less creepy than a mysterious whisper,” Hermione returned teasingly.</p><p> </p><p>“I only whispered to avoid startling you,” Tom explained, smile widening. “I’ll be sure to tap on your mirror insistently next time with my beak.”</p><p> </p><p>“That would be a sight,” Hermione laughed, unconsciously rubbing at the itch in her finger again. She noticed his eyes track the movement. </p><p> </p><p>“Does it bother you much?” He asked, pointing at her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a bit itchy,” she responded. “Though I’m nearly used to it by now. Is it the same for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. I believe I’m getting closer to discovering how to stop it, however,” he said, watching her reaction carefully. She felt like she was being set up for something, but her curiosity was too overwhelming to avoid falling for it. </p><p> </p><p>He knew something. And maybe if they worked together, they could truly understand it. She didn’t trust him yet, but could he really hurt her when they were connected like this? She wasn’t even sure why she was so worried about him harming her. He’d done nothing to give her that impression. He’d been the perfect gentleman, even covering her with his cloak when she’d found herself in his room, her nightgown leaving little to the imagination. She blushed at the memory before pushing it back down. No, he was a stranger, but a clever stranger who could fill in the gaps in her knowledge. She could get what she needed from him without getting too close.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d like to hear more about that,” She confessed. She gestured to her bed behind her, smiling sheepishly. “I also picked up a few books today that I hope will shed some light on… this.”</p><p> </p><p>His gaze landed on the books over her shoulder, and he saw a hunger in them that she recognized. A hunger for knowledge that she’d seen countless times in her own reflection. She couldn’t help the smile that pricked at the corners of her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>She walked to the bed and scooped a few into her arms before bringing them to the mirror. She held up a thin one with a brown leather cover. “This is one of Paracelsus’s journals from the late 1500s. I imagine his experiments with fairy dust will be described in detail, as they resulted in the accidental creation of the soul glass itself--”</p><p> </p><p>“--which would explain the soul marks,” he finished for her with a smirk. He reached out his hand and a black book with gold trimming soared into it. “That is a good start.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so,” she blushed at the acknowledgment. “I also have the story of Eda and the Looking Glass. A friend of mine explained that it’s a traditional wizarding fairytale about the Looking Glass of Destiny, as it’s sometimes referred to.”</p><p> </p><p>“A fairy tale?” He frowned. “I’m not sure how that would help you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’d be surprised,” Hermione replied, eyes drifting to her copy of The Tales of Beetle the Bard on her bookshelf.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve actually come across a book on dark artifacts that mentions the soul glass,” Tom dismissed her comment. “I’ve yet to read it, but it should enlighten us on the other magical elements that connect our souls to each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dark artifacts?” Hermione asked, puzzled. “I wasn’t aware the soul glass was considered dark. If anything, it’s seen as something very romantic in the texts I’ve read.”</p><p> </p><p>“Romantic?” Tom scoffed, waving her comment away with his book. “It’s romantic in much the same way as a love potion, isn’t it? It’s romantic until you are the target, with no control over your own thoughts and actions. Your destiny is reliant on the whims of another.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d never thought of it that way,” Hermione agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “But you’re absolutely right. Anything that binds your soul to another person - or object - can only be dark. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been finding it difficult to get information.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry,” Tom assured her, and though he was smiling his voice was exceedingly condescending. “I’ll handle the dark magic research on the mirror. You can read through those journals, and we can reconvene once we have enough information to share.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you?” Hermione retorted, unable to stop herself. Something about his tone made her feel on edge. Was he belittling her because she mentioned the storybook? She had half a mind to tell him how much a simple fairytale had contributed to the fall of the greatest dark wizard of all time. </p><p> </p><p>His smile froze on his face, and she saw his eyes flash. But she blinked and it was gone. He shook his head and his smile turned sheepish. “Forgive me, it’s a force of habit. I haven’t been able to shake my Prefect tendencies since I graduated.”</p><p> </p><p>“I understand,” she replied honestly, beginning to realize more and more why the soul glass had chosen him as her soul mate. He was just like her: eager to learn, hungry for knowledge, assertive and confident in his knowledge. </p><p> </p><p>But he was also sort of a prat.</p><p> </p><p>“Since you’re returning to Hogwarts, perhaps we can meet in person to discuss our findings?” He changed the subject smoothly. “I’d be happy to go to Hogsmeade on a Saturday that you’re available.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione hesitated. This is exactly what she had not wanted to happen. She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she could meet an exceptionally handsome young man in The Three Broomsticks for a drink and not be seen and recognized by every wizard or witch in the area. She felt dizzy just imagining having to explain her way out of that situation to Ron. To be fair, they hadn’t spoken directly since the incident in October. Ginny had been passing messages between them, making excuses for Hermione and bringing his passive-aggressive responses back to her. She wasn’t even sure if they were really together anymore, and honestly the time without him had been less painful than she’d expected. It had been almost blissful to focus entirely on her own studies and projects without the need to help him with his own, or feign interest in the asinine Quidditch stats he, Harry, and Ginny tossed around over the lunch table. She was alone, but not lonely. And she felt terribly guilty about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, don’t feel obligated,” Tom’s voice cut through her whirring thoughts, startling her back to reality. He was looking at her strangely, like she was a puzzle he was trying to piece together.</p><p>“S-sorry,” she stuttered, flustered under his gaze. “I was just thinking of how crowded Hogsmeade is on the weekend. I wouldn’t want to be overheard discussing something so… personal at Madam Puddifoot's.”</p><p> </p><p>“What would you suggest, then?” Tom asked, face unreadable but voice markedly impatient.</p><p> </p><p>“The Shrieking Shack!” Hermione clapped her hands together. “No one goes in there, even now. It should be perfect.”</p><p> </p><p>“The what?” Tom asked, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, The Shrieking Shack,” Hermione repeated, looking at him strangely. “You can’t tell me you’ve never been dared to enter it before?”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t tell you if I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit back, clearly irked by this point.</p><p> </p><p>“The abandoned shack in Hogsmeade?” Hermione was surprised that there was a single Hogwarts student who’d never heard of it. “It’s on the hill, along the path from Hogwarts.”</p><p> </p><p>“The MacDougal House?” Tom questioned. “Last I heard, Gareth still lived there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we are thinking of a different place.” Hermione said carefully, having never heard of the MacDougal House before.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I suggest the Hog’s Head, then?” Tom seemed eager to come to a conclusion. “There are rarely any students there, and we can get a table upstairs in the corner. It’s very discreet.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right, then,” Hermione relented, figuring Aberforth could be trusted to keep their meeting a secret. Even after the Battle of Hogwarts, students still preferred The Three Broomsticks to the dingy atmosphere of the Hog’s Head. It would be her best bet.</p><p> </p><p>“The second Saturday of January, then? At one?” He suggested, though his tone brooked no argument.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll see you there,” She smiled tightly. He spun on his heel, and with a wave of his hand, the mirror changed to reflect her room back to her. But of course, not without the glaring figure of Tom standing next to her. He looked less handsome than before, she noted, now that she’d talked with him at length. She glared back at him as she covered her mirror again with his cloak. She caught his earthy scent, something like sandalwood, as the cloak settled. She glared at that, too.</p><p> </p><p>He was clearly used to giving orders, and seemed to have a very difficult time compromising with others. She was perceptive enough to catch the changes in his expression, his mask slipping. That didn’t bode well. </p><p> </p><p>She decided that she should probably stop psychoanalyzing her soulmate and get to researching. Because now she wanted nothing more to ensure that this man would not be her soulmate for much longer.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>January 10th, 1999</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Hermione slipped into the Hog’s Head pub and peered around the dark space at the customers. No one she knew, unless one of the hooded figures crowded at the table in the back was a student doing something dodgy. She looked over to the bar just as Aberforth came out from the kitchen. He greeted her with a nod when they made eye contact, and gestured for her to sit. She still had about 11 minutes before Tom was slated to come, and she had a feeling he was also the type to show up early.</p><p> </p><p>She approached the bar with a smile. “Hello, Aberforth. I’d like one of your tables up there, the furthest in the back, if you don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>He looked at her suspiciously. “You know I won’t defend you if you get caught doing anything illegal. Is that clear?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” she assured him, laughing at such a ridiculous accusation. “I’m meeting someone for a chat. One we would <em>not</em> like to be overheard having.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very well,” he waved to the tables before grabbing a glass and beginning to clean it with a cloth. “Can I start you off with a drink while you wait?”</p><p> </p><p>“A butterbeer would be lovely, thank you,” she smiled in thanks before turning and hurrying up the stairs. She quickly cast a <em>muffliato</em>, then pulled out a stack of books and parchment, covered in her neat print, and spread them out over the table in chronological order.</p><p> </p><p>The journals turned out to have a plethora of valuable information, and she was quite sure that now she knew where the mark had come from, and the effect on soul bonding.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, he had been right about the fairytale. A dead end, in the form of a happy ending, which would definitely not be the case for her and Tom. She would never admit that, however, and hoped that he wouldn’t ask. Though she had the sneaking suspicion that he would just to irk her. She was certainly planning on mentioning that the Shrieking Shack was indeed still an abandoned shack, and that a MacDougal house didn’t exist. Hadn’t existed since 1954, as a matter of fact, when the MacDougals had relocated to Montrose. He had clearly been showing off with his outdated history knowledge.</p><p> </p><p>She looked over her notes as she sipped the butterbeer that had appeared on her table. She had a list of potion ingredients and their properties that could be used to brew a reversal potion. Unfortunately, there wasn’t an exact recipe, and the results of Paracelsus’s trials didn’t leave her feeling very confident about she and Tom coming out of them alive. But Hermione was sure they could figure something out. It was obvious that as much of an insufferable know-it-all her soulmate was, he was very intelligent. She only hoped that the answer to their problem didn’t lie in the dark arts, as he thought it might.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Once it became clear that Tom wasn’t going to show up, Hermione left the Hog’s Head in a huff two hours and twenty minutes later, leaving behind three empty glasses and her hope of resolving her conundrum before the summer holidays.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>January 13th, 1946</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Tom slid open the window of his flat with a smirk, his hands open to receive the reply he’d been expecting from Hermione. After she’d stood him up, he’d gone straight to the owlery, seething,  to send her a polite letter asking after her health. He was impressed with his own restraint, considering how he usually dealt with those who slighted him.</p><p> </p><p>His smile faltered when he saw it was his own letter, the one he had sent off to Hogwarts earlier that day, with a note in Armando Dippet’s loopy cursive confirming that there was not, in fact, a student at Hogwarts by the name of Hermione.</p><p> </p><p>He’d thought it strange that he’d never seen her at Hogwarts, and even stranger that she hadn’t shown up to the Hog’s Head. Now that Headmaster Dippet had confirmed it, he knew something was <em>definitely</em> off about the girl. But no matter, she was his soulmate, strange or otherwise, and he had plans for her.</p><p> </p><p>Tom re-read the letter multiple times before looking over at the mirror. Hermione was standing there, hands clasped behind her back, still wearing the same nightgown as the first time they’d met. She was smiling at him softly, her rich brown eyes following him as he walked toward the mirror. He stood before it, still as a statue, glaring down at her freckled complexion, framed by her wild, curly hair. He dragged his thumb across the cool glass, along the reflection of her jawline.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve found the spell we need, Hermione,” he whispered, hand drifting down from her jaw to cover her throat. “Soon even this mirror won’t be able to keep you from me.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione’s reflection didn’t react. She simply continued smiling at him with the admiring expression he expected to see on her face in due time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank youuuuu Mercurysflame for editing this one for me!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>March 18, 1999</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand,” Ron reached over the table and grabbed Hermione’s hands. “We were fine. Things were going well.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione sighed. “It’s not about that, Ron. Things aren't <em>bad</em>. It’s just... I think we’re better off as friends.”</p><p> </p><p>“We <em>were</em> friends. And then we decided <em>not</em> to be,” he argued, squeezing her hands harder. “Remember that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you think people break up every day, Ron?” Hermione couldn’t help the twinge of annoyance that broke through the immense guilt weighing her down. She wrenched her hands out of his tight grasp. “Everyone decides to try, but not everyone can make it work.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I don’t get. Why do you think it’s not working? I’m happy!”</p><p> </p><p>“A relationship isn't a one-way street, Ron!” Hermione slammed her fist on the table, eyes no longer wet with tears. “I have my own worries, my own ambitions, my own life. But have you bothered to ask me about any of them in the last two months?”</p><p> </p><p>Ron scoffed. “Of course I have.”</p><p> </p><p>“Name one thing you’ve learned about me since we started talking again,” Hermione urged. “Just one thing.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t paint me to be the villain here!” He snapped at her and crossed his arms, which was a sign of defeat in Ron’s language, though he’d never admit it. She’d been a bit dramatic -- of <em>course</em> he’d asked her simple questions about her week -- but she knew that he wouldn’t remember any of it. He was so caught up in his own life, so vastly different from her own, that he’d barely listened. And that was <em>okay</em>, she reassured herself. It wasn’t because he was selfish, or a terrible person. It was just that now, without the commonality of schoolwork and classmates and the threat of mortal peril tying them together, there was nothing left. No similar interests to feed their conversations.</p><p> </p><p>She felt like it was… time. There was no other way to describe it. She wasn’t devastated, or reluctant to let go. She was only sorry that she’d stopped by his shop after leaving the Hog’s Head that day and tried to make amends. And she was sorry, most of all, that the sting of being stood up by her soulmate had led to it.</p><p> </p><p>She was a practical, rational girl, she thought. She knew she was prone to emotional outbursts in stressful situations, and jealousy was only natural. But it was the first time since she had set those canaries on Ron after the Lavender Incident that she’d felt the need to make someone hurt the way she did. She knew Tom wouldn’t care - he was practically a stranger with no way of finding out, anyway - but it made her feel better somehow to prove she didn’t need a soulmate, especially one who didn’t keep his commitments.</p><p> </p><p>“There <em>is</em> no villain here, Ron. The war is over, we defeated him. And it’s changed us. You might need some time, and I’ll give you as much as you need. But I don’t want to lose you as a friend just to maintain a romantic relationship that isn’t likely to succeed.”</p><p> </p><p>Ron glared down at the table silently. Hermione sat patiently, waiting for him to formulate his response. After a few minutes, he sighed heavily and looked up at her with sad eyes and a deep frown. Her heart twisted with guilt.</p><p> </p><p>“Ever the practical one,” Ron smiled tightly, standing up from the table. She followed suit, hands clasped together in front of her. “I think you’d better leave now.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione nodded and turned around, sure to keep her spine straight and chin up as she walked out the doors of his shop, feeling nothing but overwhelming relief. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong>April 21, 1999</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hermione</em>,” the whisper brushed across her face like a soft breeze as her eyes snapped open. “<em>Hermione</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>She sat up slowly, waving her hand to slide the curtain aside and light the wand on her nightstand. The beam of pale yellow fell upon a dark shape in the middle of the dorm room that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep the night before. She silently slid her feet over the edge of the bed and grasped her wand tightly. She moved toward the shape, her nightgown billowing in a breeze that she knew wasn’t there. She shivered in the chill, crossing her arms over the thin fabric, wand hanging loosely in her fingers. She wasn’t afraid, she knew whatever the shape was, it was safe. It was meant to be there.</p><p> </p><p>As she approached it, she recognized the looping metal frame and the smooth glass. But now it was glowing -- well, more specifically, <em>she</em> was glowing. Her skin seemed to have absorbed the light of her wand, making her look like one of the ghosts floating along the halls at Hogwarts. Her hair created a halo of vibrant brown framing her face, and the red of her nightgown looked like lava flowing languidly down her body. But the most noticeable thing was her eyes, two striking gold rings glittering from beneath her lashes. She brought her hands up to trace her cheek calmly, unconsciously moving closer to the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>She paused when she felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. It was cold, smooth, trailing slowly across her shining skin toward her neck, triggering an outbreak of gooseflesh along her arms. She closed her eyes and exhaled, leaning into the pressure.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hermione</em>,” the whisper was right beside her ear, tickling her ear lobe like the flick of a tongue. The cold sensation continued to move, sliding around the sensitive skin of her neck. She couldn’t hold back the sigh that escaped her lips at the feeling. It wrapped around her throat, almost tenderly, as the whisper hissed into her ear again. “<em>Hermione</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>She looked up, meeting her own golden eyes, which flickered to the space over her shoulder, locking with two small glowing red orbs. She detachedly observed the way they blazed in the darkness, both terrifying and beautiful. She raised her hands to her neck and ran her fingers along the long, sleek body attached to the eyes. It released a low hiss, and she felt the flicker of the tongue again, this time against her shoulder. The pressure increased on her throat, until she was struggling to breathe. She continued to watch the red eyes through her shallow breaths, and as the mouth opened, she saw the reflection of her skin on the long, sharp fangs of the snake wrapped around her neck. She calmly observed as it struck, sinking its fangs into her shoulder. She felt the pain, sensed the venom scorching a path through her veins, but she simply watched herself slowly asphyxiate in the reflection without any emotion. Watched as the blood cascaded down her shoulder and further darkened the red of her slip. Her eyes drifted closed as she took her last, gasping breath.</p><p> </p><p>Then they snapped open as she sucked in air hungrily, her hands shooting to her neck. She was lying on her back, facing the red and gold canopy of her bed. What on earth <em>was</em> that? Her dreams were usually vivid, but this had felt more like it was real. The stress of the soulmate situation must really be getting to her.</p><p> </p><p>She had just barely evened out her breathing when she was startled out of her skin once again by Ginny pulling the curtain aside with a shout.</p><p> </p><p>“Hermione, are you alright?” Ginny hopped onto the edge of her bed and laughed at Hermione’s disheveled state. “You’re usually up at the crack of dawn to study for your N.E.W.T.s. You’ve missed breakfast today.”</p><p> </p><p>“What time is it?” Hermione jolted up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed, accidentally kicking Ginny’s elbow in the process.</p><p> </p><p>“Ow! It’s half past ten, but don’t you have a free period on Wednesday?” Ginny rubbed her elbow with a scowl.</p><p> </p><p>“N.E.W.T.s are only 17 days away, Ginny!” Hermione slid off her bed and began gathering her robes from her trunk. She told herself that the reason for her heart’s frantic beating was missing two hours of N.E.W.T. study time, and not the unshakeable memory of two red, glowing eyes. She was far too busy to dwell on such things.</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>July 3, 1999</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Hermione fidgeted under the gaze of Tom’s reflection. It had been nearly seven months since she’d last seen him, and she couldn’t help the lurch of her heart upon laying eyes on him again. She’d like to think it was less a pleasant response to his handsome features and piercing, intelligent eyes, and more the antagonistic expression that had hardened them, inciting dread. He’d always looked mildly displeased, but today in particular he looked very unhappy to see her. She wondered if his personal feelings manifested in the image she saw, or if it was just her imagination.</p><p> </p><p>She returned his glare. He had been the one to stand her up, hadn’t he? He had no right to be upset, really. He had also been indirectly responsible for the end of her relationship. If she had never found this stupid mirror, she would have been blissfully ignorant of this soulmate nonsense, which had exacerbated the existing insecurities of their relationship. Her own insecurities, which she needed to overcome before finding someone better suited to her.</p><p> </p><p>Not Tom, of course. She fully intended to break the connection between their souls, and she would go on to choose her own future. </p><p> </p><p>“Tom?” She called out hesitantly, silently hoping he wouldn’t hear her. </p><p> </p><p>No such luck.</p><p> </p><p>“Glad to see you’ve decided to make an appearance,” Tom appeared in his reflection’s spot with a flurry of movement, the background shifting behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re one to talk,” Hermione said indignantly, crossing her arms. “I waited at the Hog’s Head for hours that day.”</p><p> </p><p>Tom paused, watching her intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as they bore into hers, as if searching for something. She fought the urge to look away, and they stared each other down for a moment before he smiled apologetically.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m very sorry about that,” he said softly. “Something came up and I couldn’t get in touch with you without the mirror.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s quite alright,” Hermione assured him, though even she was unconvinced by the bite in her tone. “I’d nearly forgotten about it, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“Clearly,” he teased, the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly. “How can I make it up to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No need.” She waved away his question with her hand and turned toward her desk, cheeks pink. “I have found out even more about the soul glass and our marks since then, actually. Let’s compare notes and decide what we can do about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think meeting in person to discuss it would be more efficient, don’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione hesitated over her desk, her back to the mirror. She <em>could</em> meet him, that wouldn’t be an issue. Especially now, when she wasn’t… <em>attached</em>. But he was too noticeable to bring somewhere like Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley, where they’d surely be seen by someone she knew and it would get back to Ron, endangering the fragile friendship they’d begun to work toward. No, perhaps muggle London. Or even…</p><p> </p><p>She straightened up and turned toward him. He was looking at her expectantly, hands clasped behind his back. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re right,” she said, approaching the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>Before she lost her nerve, she reached out her hand and and pushed it into the cool glass. She shivered as she watched it go through, reappearing palm up on the other side where Tom’s attention was diverted to it. She smiled at him and nodded once encouragingly when their eyes locked, the question in his eyes clear.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to come over to mine?” She offered. “It’s only fair.”</p><p> </p><p>Then an expression overtook his face that reminded her more of his reflection than himself. His eyes glinted greedily, smile wide and almost vicious. Her heart stopped, but before she could pull her hand away he’d already grasped it gently, and the sizzle of energy that usually accompanied their contact momentarily distracted her. Was it going to be like this every time they touched? If so, she should probably avoid doing that in the future.</p><p> </p><p>She looked back at his face to see that the expression was gone, his eyes softer, his smile kind and warm.</p><p> </p><p>Had she imagined his expression before..? What was <em>wrong</em> with her?</p><p> </p><p>She shook away the fear that had gripped her momentarily and met his expectant gaze. She pulled, watching with amazement as he slipped through the glass and materialized in her room. She had forgotten how tall and imposing he was, her chin tilted up high to look at him. He didn’t look at her, but rather scanned the room calculatingly. When his dark eyes flicked down to her, she realized with a start how close they were. She quickly released his hand and stepped back, gesturing toward her room.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome to my home,” she said, sweeping her hand across the small space. “It's not much, but it's got everything I need. You can sit at the table over there. Would you like some tea?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d love some, thank you,” Tom replied smoothly with a nod and a dazzling smile. He did not walk toward the table, but sauntered over to the book shelf instead.</p><p> </p><p>Hermione pulled out her wand and conjured a tea kettle, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Any preference?”</p><p> </p><p> “Earl gray, if you have it, please.” His fingers ran along the bindings of the books, following the line of each title as if physical touch would commit them to his memory. His head turned slightly to glance over his shoulder. “This room looks different to the last time we met.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well, I moved out of my parents’ house once I graduated,” Hermione explained. “This is closer to work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations on finding a job so soon after graduation. You must be quite accomplished.”</p><p> </p><p>She blushed and stammered, “N-no, not really. I wasn’t even able to become Head Girl, what with the year I was absent due to the war and all. I did receive O's on all six of my N.E.W.T.s, I suppose that <em>is</em> nothing to scoff at.”</p><p> </p><p>“You were absent because of the war?” She wasn’t looking at him as she fiddled with the teacups, but she could feel Tom’s eyes boring into the side of her head.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, I had to go on the run with the others before the trials began.” She set the cups down on the table and the kettle poured steaming water into them. She turned to him with a sweep of her wand, sending the kettle back to its place on the counter. “Milk or sugar?”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither, thank you,” he replied as he closed the book with a snap and placed it back on the shelf. He gave her a sympathetic smile as he moved to join her at the table. She sat perched at the edge of her chair and watched him warily as he approached. </p><p> </p><p>“You must be quite relieved the war is over, then. It was very generous of the Headmaster to welcome you back for another year.”</p><p> </p><p>She froze for a moment, wondering if she’d misheard him. Perhaps he had graduated before Dumbledore had been killed, and hadn’t heard the news. Or maybe he had heard about Snape taking over, and didn’t know about his death either. If so, it was very likely that Tom lived under a very large, very solid rock.</p><p> </p><p>“The <em>headmistress</em> was very happy to welcome back all of those who missed school due to the Ministry’s persecution,” Hermione corrected him sharply with a frown.</p><p> </p><p>Tom’s polite smile only widened as he took a sip from his cup, but his eyes peered at her calculatingly over the rim. “Yes, the <em>headmistress</em>. My mistake, it <em>has</em> been a while since I heard news of Hogwarts.”</p><p> </p><p>“You must not read the Prophet much,” she ventured carefully. She hoped it was true, that he hadn’t seen Rita Skeeter’s outrageous articles about her over the years, that she wouldn’t have to work hard to disprove and revitalize her image. Not that she particularly cared what he thought, but still.</p><p> </p><p>“I have plenty more enlightening things to read than <em>that</em> old rag,” Tom responded, disdain dripping from his words.</p><p> </p><p>“Well said,” she laughed with relief and gave him a genuine smile. “Are you… Have you found a job as well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I am a shop assistant specializing in the sale and acquisition of rare artifacts,” Tom replied slowly. He watched her unblinkingly, as if to gauge her reaction. She smiled and leaned toward him.</p><p> </p><p>“Artifacts such as mirrors made of soul glass?” She asked.</p><p> </p><p>“That is one very relevant example.” He inclined his head with a chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>“Then you must have had no trouble at all finding information about it, being a specialist.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still an apprentice, but yes, my employer was able to guide me in the right direction.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you find any reading material on it? I suppose I should have allowed you time to find them before dragging you over here.”</p><p> </p><p>He tapped his temple with his finger. “There is enough stored in here for now. Tell me what you’ve found, and we can compare.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione nodded eagerly and crossed the room to her desk. She spent a moment stacking the scrolls of parchment precariously on top of three leather-bound journals, and carried them back over to the table. She opened one of the journals and rolled open one of the scrolls beside it.</p><p> </p><p>“As you can see here, Paracelsus made no note of the soul glass being used as a means of communication. His journals show it was simply intended to find two compatible souls. He wanted to use it to strengthen his magic by combining it with his counterpart's.” She used her finger to trace the timeline she’d sketched. “He didn’t succeed for himself, but he was able to test the theory with some of his colleagues. As it turned out...”</p><p> </p><p>“He found matches for three of them, and they were able to use the glass to bond their souls together and amplify their power.” Tom finished for her when she hesitated, looking up at her curiously. “Isn’t that right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes, but,” she continued haltingly, feeling herself flush under his gaze. “It turned out that only two of them were able to do so, as the success of the soul bonding relied heavily on the… romantic connection between the subjects.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t see any evidence of that,” he frowned slightly, eyes continuing to watch her face carefully. She kept hers fixed firmly on the timeline and tapped her finger impatiently.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, look here, in 1584,” Hermione managed to keep her voice even. “Groffilus Rhimhorn and Zadia Lyon were two of the subjects who fell in love immediately upon meeting, although they’d never seen each other before the experiment. Their case was the most successful bonding of the three, and they went on to accomplish great things in the magical world with their combined power.”</p><p> </p><p>Tom reached over and grabbed the journal from the edge of the table. “How is it, then, that they were able to locate each other when they wouldn’t have been able to see the reflection clearly? It doesn’t quite add up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Page 74, third paragraph,” Hermione pointed to the journal in his hands. He deftly flipped to the page and began scanning it. “The soul marks were not intentional, but an acquaintance at St. Mungo’s mentioned a mysterious gold mark on one of her patients, right in the same spot as his colleague’s. The magical community was quite tight-knit at the time, as you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Tom’s frown deepened as he silently continued reading, flipping page after page. Hermione waited patiently for him, studying each miniscule emotion that twitched at the corner of his mouth, between his eyebrows. She could tell that he wasn’t happy about this situation anymore than she was. </p><p> </p><p>She was sure with his looks, he wouldn’t need a mirror to decide his soulmate for him. She might even be interested if there wasn’t something so indescribably off about him. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but she could tell he was a man with a lot of secrets, and she had had enough secrets over the previous seven years to last her a lifetime.</p><p> </p><p>She broke out of her reverie to find Tom staring back at her, his frown replaced by an expectant smile. She shook her head slightly and laughed. “Sorry, I drifted off for a moment.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright. Have you seen this passage?” He placed the book on the table and slid it toward her. She held back a frown. Of course she’d seen it, she’d read the entire journal four times and taken extensive notes on each section.</p><p> </p><p>“The one about Marie and Pegasus? Yes, they were the failed case,” she looked at him expectantly. “What about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no mention of the failure being a result of a lack of love between them,” Tom tapped his finger on the journal. “There’s no mention of any reason at all for the bond not taking.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s obvious though, isn’t it?” Hermione fumbled with several of the scrolls before finally pulling another to the middle of the table and spreading it across. “I looked up the people involved, and Pegasus was a known dark magic user. Marie was a healer. Marie couldn’t love someone with a soul so dark, when her own was so light, could she?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Love</em> aside,” he said the word with distaste. “It was more likely due to magical incompatibility, don’t you agree? Just because your soulmate is determined, it does not mean the glass is always accurate. According to the Arithmancy equations I ran on the glass, it’s likely that the compatibility success rate can’t be more than 80%.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione shook her head and slid the journal out from under the parchment again. “Even Paracelsus and his astronomy consultant mentioned that there was a sort of yin and yang element to compatibility. One must complement the other in the way they lack, or something along those lines. I think they simply did not like each other, despite being perfectly compatible.”</p><p> </p><p>Tom did not look convinced, and he ran his hand along his jaw in frustration. She continued talking to make her point before he could attempt to refute her again.</p><p> </p><p>“I admit the evidence is not necessarily solid, with only these three cases mentioned here. The other incidents of soulmates connecting through a mirror are merely anecdotal, and none of them appear to have attempted a <em>bond</em> since Paracelsus himself. But I stand by my assumption that love is the key. It makes the most sense, as it is so inherently connected to the soul.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then would you have us fall in <em>love</em>, Hermione?” Her eyes snapped up to his. Tom gazed at her over his clasped hands, a sneer marring his handsome features.</p><p> </p><p>“Fall in love?” Hermione scoffed, though she could not stop her face from burning. She suddenly felt very hot, and slightly dizzy. “I want to break this connection, same as you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Break the connection?” Tom laughed mirthlessly. “Wouldn't it be a waste of this unique opportunity? I know you’re an ambitious girl, Hermione. A soul bond could make us both accomplish anything we wanted.”</p><p> </p><p>Hermione stood up from her chair suddenly, a wave of dizziness accosting her. She placed both her palms on the table and took a deep, shaky breath. What was wrong with her suddenly? She had definitely been wrong about him, and she was definitely not going to make a soul bond with this man she barely knew. But her surprised and disappointment shouldn’t have affected her so… physically. </p><p> </p><p>“I think you should leave now, Tom,” she said, staring down at the table and willing it to stop moving. “I’m not feeling well, and I think this is a conversation best had when we’ve both had time to consider it.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have plenty of time to think it over, Hermione,” Tom’s voice was soft and menacing, and very, very close to her ear. She could feel his body heat radiating off of him as he leaned toward her, and his left hand appeared in her increasingly hazy vision, reaching out to stroke the golden band on her finger with his own. The spark she’d felt the first night they’d met shot through her again, and she closed her eyes and bit back a whimper. When she opened them again and focused on his hand, she felt another shock reverberate within her veins, but this one was cold and devastating.</p><p> </p><p>On his finger was not a soul mark, but a ring. A gold band with a black stone, one she’d seen only once before on the cursed, shriveled hand of Albus Dumbledore. A ring that should be lost somewhere deep in the Forbidden Forest. Her vision blurred suddenly as panic seized her, but she was no longer in control of her body.</p><p> </p><p>The golden shimmer of the mark of the Deathly Hallows upon the obsidian stone was the last thing she saw before she felt strong arms catch her and her vision faded to black.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, I'm the worst. Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks, it's so encouraging to see that people are enjoying the fic! I'm slowly working my way through the comments to reply, bear with me.</p><p>It took me some time but I finally found the motivation to write, and things are starting to move along in the plot. Welcome to 1999, Tom!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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